Carlos Rodon ($28 million per year) got the win, after Giancarlo Stanton ($32 million) hit a crucial HR, after Aaron Judge ($40 million) and Cody Bellinger ($28 million) singled. That's $128 million in talent, and before you scream, "The Yankees buy their wild cards!" the season still has seven games - a lifetime in NYC - to go.
Seven games.
Toronto is stumbling, but they're phoning it in. They know it doesn't matter, they're safe in the AL East, but it sure would be nice to break the losing streak and coast. If the Yankees close another game, stress levels will rise.
Detroit is in a freefall, ice cold, and they're starting to drool. Cleveland is MLB's hottest team, and one game separates them.
Seattle owns the west and will reach the postseason with the deepest pitching staff in baseball.
Where are we? Well, we'll find out today. Win, and we just took a road series against an angry, underachieving team that has played above .500 for the last few months. Lose, and we're looking over our shoulder, where the objects in the mirror are closer than they may seem.
These are the playoffs, friends. And last night, the winner was money.
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Seattle was my pre-season pick to win the AL. Maybe a Seattle-Milwaukee World Series? Two teams that both had their origins in The Emerald City?
The networks could start each broadcast with the old theme song from Here Come the Brides:
"The blues sky you've seen
In Seattle
And the hills the greenest green
In Seattle..."
Damn, I'm old!...
...Or maybe it'll be Seattle-Philadelphia. Commissioner Manfred Man could declare that the entire Series will be a mano-a-mano contest between Kyle Swisher and The Big Dumper.
Each "game" will consist of them having a Series Swing Off. All pitches will be thrown by a machine, or maybe pitching coaches. Better yet: the winners of a pay-to-play lottery! Whole broadcast sewed up in a nifty one-hour lead-in to a big NFL game, with 45 minutes of ads, gambling analysis, and mascot races.
Hey, it's coming!
Of course, the juju gods are just setting us up again—as is Brian Cashman. After all the endless sturm-und-drang of this ridiculous season, the Yankees will once again...be one player short of taking it all. One effective reliever, one first-class catcher or middle infielder. One first baseman who is not too old to hit or field his position.
"Where have you gone T.J. Rumfield?
Yankees nation turns its lonely eyes to you
Woo-woo-woo..."
Hey, could be worse. We could be the Jets. Which I think might be good for America's new motto.
I appreciate your stoking the fires, Esteemed Duque, but it doesn't feel like much of a race to me. And maybe that's my own ennui, my total lack of fucks left to give about baseball. Just that dead feeling inside. We'll probably be in the playoffs. Whether we are or not, whether we're home or away, whether we're hot or not, I just don't seem to care. I have become a fatalist and, I believe, with good reason. Is there fire in this team's belly? Please sir, don't jest. Sure, they'd love to win, but do they have the focus and the chops to do it? Somewhere in their collective heads is the idea of a few months off, driving convertibles in Florida, and reading golf magazines by the pool. I cannot bask in their fire because they have none. Though time to be a Yankee fan. "What are we fighting for? Don't know, don't give a damn, next stop is Fenway Park."
All empires collapse eventually. That includes the New York Yankees.
In my life…
I have never seen someone run across the top of a table.
Never.
The last hit single for Perry Como, I believe.
Toronto has really been sucking lately, and they're down a starter.
It's possible we could steal this title. Of course, there's always the Boone factor.
Boone, factor ?
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